Dear Death,
You took my father last Saturday on January 17th, 2026 at 1:30 pm.
The last liquidy remnants gushed out like a waterfall from his lungs through the mouth and nose onto my hand lying over his heart. That was the moment you arrived in the ER room to bring him home. I watched his skin turn sort of blue as he gasped for air in his drowning lungs. There was one more gasp before his head dropped and his glazed distant eyes closed once and for all.
Finally, peace.
He only wanted to go to lunch and to return to his bed in memory care, where I walked in to find him during my usual morning routine time.
Every morning for the past fourteen months I have walked into his room to get him out of bed and onto the exercise machine in the little gym. After that he would have a banana in the lobby. I would walk him for a lap with his walker before we would finish our routine with a the vitamin and electrolyte water I made him to drink after brushing his teeth and washing his hands. This was our sacred time. I would ask him the same questions while he drank down his liquids. What’s your favorite color, drink, food, etc. What year is it, what city is he living in, etc. I committed myself to being there every morning since we brought him up to Seattle.
But it’s been much longer than that, Death. It’s been since you took my mom in 2019. That is when my devotion began. With sister as my partner, she became his dad and I became his mom.
When you took mom home, dad died inside and never recovered. So sister and I slowly took over the logistics and care of his life, allowing him to stay in the house he lived in for over twenty years. All of my vacation time was with him, in the house that felt like a tomb since mom died. He only wanted to hold on and have everything stay the same.
We did our best to give him what he wanted for five years until his first fall that led to assisted living in Vegas and the second fall that brought him close to me. Long story short, Death, he has been the center of my Universe for seven years. I have not taken a vacation. I have not followed my own rhythms. I made the choice to sacrifice and I built my life around caretaking him.
You know my voice well because I have been calling out to you for years. You collect the calls from those who have loved-ones in memory care units because it is truly that difficult and sad. You could create a symphony from our voices. And you know it’s not anything bad, how we call to you crying. You know it is a form of love. You know it’s the system that is messed up. That grace does not always look like the body staying alive. The you can also be the grace.
I have no shame. I am an advocate of love.
I watched dad’s body persist as his heart sunk into depression and his soul and mind took a backseat. I grieved him long before you took him home. I have been grieving him for years. I became a master of grieving. My body eroding, my heart enduring. It always felt like too much but I came to accept that. Love must accept everything not just the easy and bright stuff.
I am no saint. Nobody is a saint except the saints. I won’t pretend to be selfless and pure. I sacrificed out of love and it tore me to pieces and I live with no regret. Tragedy is tragedy. Hard is hard. I am glad I did it and deep down I understood you would take him according to his destiny, not my own and that somehow our destinies were intertwined.
And you did. At 1:30 pm with my hand over his heart after five hours of watching him aspirate. The trauma of those five hours. Of making him go to the hospital. The entire time the dementia having him say over and over, “I want to spend time with my daughter”, “leave”, “I’m fine”, “I want to go back to my room”, “I want to go to lunch”.
Through all of the coughing and liquids coming out, the relentlessness of dementia and suffering persisted until finally, toward the very end he said in his only lucid moment, “I can’t take it anymore”.
That is when they finally gave him morphine. Because finally a doctor with heart intervened and understood. Wasn’t afraid. Wasn’t trying to force. He was attuned.
That doctor took me aside and sat me down and got on the level. That doctor ordered the machines to be shut off and for dad to be able to take a few last bites of food because he wanted my father to have what he wanted and to have peace at the end. That doctor was an angel in disguise.
I was advocating my ass off but I did not have the authority the doctor had. Words will never express my gratitude.
Death, you came all of the sudden. Out of the blue. You snuck in on a Saturday and decided we first needed to explode into crisis. Dad’s signature move, one more time. The fourth and final crisis.
He demanded the nurse take the oxygen tube out of his nose after she administered the morphine and there I was, suddenly alone with him in the room, hand over his heart, telling him to go into the light on repeat like a mantra.
The medication finally stopped his suffering and allowed his body to relax and let go. And you granted my deepest wish, to be with him when you took him home. My soul wanted more than anything for him not to die alone.
You have given dad and me the greatest gift, Death. You are just as much life as birth is life. The soul comes in and the soul exits earth school and you are the one who leads the soul back to its origin. You are natural. You are love.
I took the Seiko watch off his hand, still warm, but no longer animated by the soul. Took it to a watch repair to remove a link. The watch was working great when I dropped it off and continues to work great on my wrist, yet when I picked it up from the shop at 5 pm, the time read 1:30 pm. A glaring sign.
And I finally was able to contact dad after three days. He was in his life review, realizing everything he did to cause hurt, making peace, seeing what he still needed to learn. I could feel his soul without the human suit, akin to Spock from Star Trek. Now I know he is safe and healing on the spirit side.
It takes time for the human grieving and for the soul on the other side. It just takes time. We are all on the path…
Death, I love you and I will see you again. I consider you a teacher and a friend. Thank you for the mercy you gave me and my dad.
Love,
Michelle
Bloom Counseling 